


Hallowed Be Thy Name

by BDWC



Series: Bless Me Father, For I Have Sinned [2]
Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: Actually THIS is the one I'm going to Hell for, Blasphemy for fun and profit, M/M, Seduction, a demons work is never done, are we there yet, does it count if you lose your virginity in a dream, night terrors but make them sexy, the nuns that taught me to write are rolling in their graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-01 13:31:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18335315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BDWC/pseuds/BDWC
Summary: After a chance encounter in a confession booth with Papa Emeritus III, Father Copia is driven by the compulsion to go to a strange abbey in Sweden. It's almost as if something is calling out to him. Exhausted by the journey he spends some of his precious and dwindling money on a room in a terrible hotel. His uneasy sleep is plagued with nightmares and a demon in familiar skull paint who seems far too real to be just a dream.A smutty, sexy, utterly blasphemous continuation of "Bless Me Father, For I Have Sinned".





	Hallowed Be Thy Name

**Author's Note:**

> I am absolutely blown away by the reception "Bless Me Father, For I Have Sinned" has had. I am in awe. Utterly gobsmacked. Thank you all so much for enjoying my work and believing in me as a writer. 
> 
> I can not thank you all enough. I hope you enjoy the next part of Father Copia's adventure. I truly hope it lives up to your expectations.

Dusk was falling in a nameless German village and Father Copia was exhausted. He had been traveling through Europe for days, barely stopping, driven by the desire to get to Sweden. It was a compulsion, one that drove him forward even though his body ached from days in a narrow bus seat and he felt road worn and covered in a film of grime. It was like a popcorn kernel stuck in his teeth, something he constantly felt no matter how much he tried to dislodge the intrusive thought. Every beat of his heart and every thrum of blood in his veins screamed "get to Sweden" at him. 

Copia was powerless in the face of it. He wondered vaguely how the church back in Rome was doing. He had left them a hurried, blunt resignation letter on his pillow and snuck out of the church in the middle of the night like a thief. A single suitcase was all he had to his name and he still wore his priest vestments. He really had no other clothes. For perhaps the thousandth time he wished he had the means to fly to Sweden. Being a priest in a small, dying church meant he was never rolling in money but he had been profoundly dismayed to discover how little his small savings could do. He had left the Rome airport utterly dejected and began a series of seemingly never ending bus trips across Europe. 

The bus had stopped in this village for the night. Copia had failed to notice the name of the place when they stopped. They all seemed the same after awhile. He considered spending the night on a bench in the bus depot but he simply couldn't face it. After making inquiries with the ticket agent he started to walk off towards the cheapest hotel in the area, body sagging from exhaustion.

The hotel looked just as tired as Copia felt. The building was gray and cold, a dying tree hunched over in what could charitably be called a front lawn. I know just how you feel, Copia thought as he walked by and entered the hotel. Inside was no better. The entry way felt almost clinical. The walls were a drab, fading industrial shade of blue and the carpet was worn thin in places. A bored looking woman wearing a frumpy brown cardigan sat at the check in desk, nose buried in what appeared to be a lurid romance novel if the cover was anything to go by. Copia stood there for several minutes before coughing politely to get her attention. 

"Oh," she said, almost accusingly as she put down her book. "I suppose you want a room." 

Copia was taken aback by her brusque nature but managed to plumb the depths of his soul and come up with a patient, almost apologetic, smile for her. 

"Yes, please." He said. "If there are any available." 

The woman rolled her eyes at him. 

"We aren't exactly busy," she said in a tone that clearly implied that Copia was an idiot. Copia could feel his nerves fraying as he stood there under her gaze. All he wanted was a shower and a bed. He felt like he was coming apart at the seams. She huffed and started pecking away with two fingers at a blocky, yellowing computer. It felt like she was stabbing the keyboard and Copia felt a headache start to gather in his temples. He exchanged an eye-watering amount of money for a room, took his key, and nearly fled up the nearby stairs. 

His room was at the end of a long corridor that could have come straight out of a horror movie. He pushed images of spooky twin girls out of his mind and hurried into the safety of his room. He locked the door behind him and took the place in with a sigh. The room was as bare bones as one could get. The bed sagged a little in the middle and the TV on the dresser looked like a museum piece. There was an unidentifiable brown stain on one wall and Copia decided to simply not think about it's provenance. He set his suitcase on the bed and steeled himself for a look at the bathroom. To his immense relief it was small and outdated but seemed clean enough. 

Copia undressed quickly and took his first real shower in days. He stood under the spray of water until it rain cold, emerging from the bathroom feeling like a new man. He pulled on a pair of warm pajamas and sat on the edge of the bed, the springs protesting his weight. His head dropped into his hands and he groaned, wondering how this had become his life. He still remembered his encounter with Papa Emeritus III vividly. Just thinking about the man's eyes or his hands or his mouth left Copia in an inconvenient state of arousal. There was more than one occasion on the buses where he had been very glad his vestments were so baggy. Not for the first time that day, Copia was bewildered by what he was doing. He clasped his hands together in prayer and shut his eyes. 

"Lucifer," he whispered, "I know I am not yet well known to you but please, I beg of you, send me a sign that I have done the right thing. I have forsaken my God and embarked on a journey that seems like utter madness. I do not feel like myself... or perhaps this is the most like myself I have ever felt before. I'm so confused. I need your help and guidance." He sighed to himself, feeling oddly foolish. Unsure how to even end his prayer to Satan he finished with a halfhearted, awkward "Amen". 

After a yawn that almost dislocated his jaw, Copia knew it was time to turn in. He shut off the lights, burrowed under the stale sheets, and was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

***

Ever since Copia had been a young boy he had been plagued by night terrors. He'd feel an electric jolt shoot down his body and he'd open his eyes to see his room invaded by monsters and demons. It was a strange trick of the senses, his body frozen yet his mind horrifyingly aware. No matter what he did, the monsters still came for him and he'd wake up screaming. Sometimes he could go for weeks or months without an episode. Tonight he was not so lucky. He felt his body flinch and his eyes flew open, taking in the dark and unfamiliar room. A large shape loomed in the shadows by the door and Copia let out a strangled noise of fear. He tried desperately to move, to wake, but his body felt corpse-like and heavy. All he could do was watch with growing terror as the figure walked closer to his bedside. A weak shaft of moonlight shone through a gap in the window curtains and Copia got a good look at his demon for the night. A proud nose, long hair, mismatched eyes, and obscene skull paint. Atop his head was a mitre, similar to that of a Pope, and he wore ornate vestments covered in an arcane symbol. His hands, which had been covered in white gloves before, were now black with sharp looking golden nails.

"Papa?" Copia gasped. Papa III smiled at him, amused. 

"Father, fancy seeing you here." he said, his voice holding that same laughing timbre it had back in Copia's church. Immediately Copia's body relaxed and he felt his limbs unlock. He sat up a little in surprise, staring at him. 

"What...? How...?" Copia searched for words but found his mental cupboards bare. Papa Emeritus III did an elegant turn around the room, looking at the dingy place with a quirked eyebrow and a smirk. 

"What has been taking you so long, beautiful one? Enjoying a little mini-holiday here in the middle of nowhere?"

"No, I have been taking buses. It is all I can afford. I am trying desperately to get to Sweden. I am trying desperately to get to you." 

Papa III turned to regard his fallen priest. Copia looked so earnest and so tired, dark shadows forming under his hazel eyes. Papa III went to his side, turning on the bedside lamp to bathe the room in an intimate glow before setting himself down next to him on the dusty duvet and taking his hand. 

"So faithful." he murmured, bringing Copia's hand to his mouth and brushing his lips over his knuckles. Copia made a small, surprised noise. He was so crazed that he was even dreaming of the man now. Still, the chaste kiss on his hand was enough to bring blood rushing to his cheeks. Papa III kept his hand and looked Copia in the eyes, smiling. "Faith that strong deserves a reward, don't you think?" 

Copia was at a loss for words. Never before had a dream felt so realistic. Papa III didn't wait for him to answer. He bent over his priest, Copia's hand now tucked against his chest, his other hand coming up behind Copia's head and tilting it up for their lips to meet. The kiss was sweet and lingering. Copia moaned into Papa III's mouth, unable to stay quiet. It was everything Copia had been craving. Papa III deepened the kiss, adding lust to the equation. His golden claws curled into the dark auburn of Copia's hair as he slipped his tongue into his mouth. 

Copia felt as if his entire body had been set ablaze, like a man tied to a stake on a pyre. Every nerve ending sang hosannas to the glory that was Papa III and his preternaturally talented tongue. The tongue that had begun this entire journey. The tongue that had made Copia reject his God and run headlong into the arms of Satan. The tongue that had given him the best orgasm of his entire life. Copia was not entirely surprised to realize he had become almost painfully hard while Papa III kissed him. The kiss ended and Copia couldn't help but sigh in disappointment. He wanted more. He needed more. Papa III grinned at him.

"Not enough for my beautiful sinner?" he asked, their noses almost touching. Copia stared into those uneven eyes and felt like a man falling into a storm tossed sea. He could drown in them if he wasn't careful. He was unsure what to say, how to even give voice to the strange new desires coursing through his body. Papa III caressed his face, brushing his thumb against Copia's kiss-swollen lips. 

"Please." Copia managed to say, voice small. Papa III looked at him. 

"What was that?" he asked, looking so deviously pleased with himself. Copia shut his eyes in shame. 

"Please." He begged. "Please." 

Papa III groaned at the new crack in Copia's priestly armor. Was there anything better in the world than a begging lover? One wound up so tightly in their desires they could barely speak? 

"I'm so proud of you, Copia." Papa III gently set Copia's hand down on the bed and began moving back blankets and sheets. "Such a good first step. One day I'll have you across my knees while you howl for me like the whore I know you are. You'll look back on such chaste little words and laugh at yourself." He kissed him between sentences. "So innocent. So pure." Papa's hand found what it was looking for. He grasped the waistband of Copia's old fashioned flannel pajamas and pulled them down. Copia's hard cock leapt free of it's confines. 

Copia's eyes were open now and he watched as Papa III wrapped his hand around his cock and began to stroke him. His head fell back against the headboard with a soft thunk, moans spilling out of his mouth. With his free hand, Papa began to unbutton Copia's flannel pajama shirt. He laughed to himself, the priest had buttoned it all the way to his chin. He couldn't wait until he had the man accustomed to sleeping naked beside him, always ready for when Papa III wanted him. 

Once the pajama shirt was unbuttoned Papa III gave the nearly naked priest an appraising look. He was surprisingly fit under those robes, his chest hairy but not obnoxiously so. It trailed down his belly in an orderly line, bisecting his hip bones and leading directly to his cock. Papa traced the line up the planes of Copia's stomach before pausing to play with his nipples. Copia yelped, eyes going wide at the sharp new pleasure. Papa III teased the small nubs of flesh for a moment before abandoning them for a bigger prize. 

"Do you want to be mine?" Papa III asked him, his free hand going behind his balls for an even more intimate place. Copia went shock still at the feeling of fingers at his hole, eyes darting up to stare at Papa III's mismatched ones. "Mine, in body and in soul?" 

"Papa..." Copia sighed, mind foggy with lust. His breath hitched as Papa III caressed him. Papa III's hand moved from languidly stroking Copia's cock to a secret fold in his opulent robes. He pulled out a small vial and smiled at Copia. 

"Say yes." he kissed him again, then began to kiss down his jaw and onto his throat. He lavished attention over Copia's pulse, making him moan and his toes curl. He wanted to leave his mark all over his debauched priest. "Say yes, father. Stay and burn with me." 

Copia was helpless to say no. He craved everything Papa III could give him and more. Weren't you supposed to say "yes" to things in dreams anyway? He nodded frantically as Papa III bit down on a place in his neck that made his blood begin to boil. 

"Yes," he groaned, "Heavenly Father yes. Unheavenly Father. I don't know which. Please, Papa. Please. I'd give anything. Please." 

Papa III rewarded him with another deep kiss as he popped open the vial and poured the contents all over his fingers. He began to slowly make Copia ready for him. Copia moaned at the intrusion of Papa's fingers, the sensation alien but not unpleasant. Papa crooked his fingers and hit something that made Copia wail. Papa grinned to himself and exploited it for all it was worth, turning Copia into a trembling wreck, his cock throbbing and leaking all over his belly. Once he deemed Copia ready, he pulled his fingers away and hurriedly tore off his mitre and robes before pushing Copia's legs up and settling between them. 

He poured the remains of the vial over his own cock, stroking himself a few times. Copia watched in awe, staring with unabashed desire as Papa III worked himself. So his priest liked to watch. What a delicious new thing to learn. Papa filed that little thought away for later. For now, there was something much more important at hand. 

Papa III moved his hands over Copia's thighs, holding him still as he lined himself up with his entrance. He didn't ask if Copia was ready. He didn't need to. He began to slowly push his cock into him. Copia grabbed onto the headboard behind him, stunned. There was a flash of pain but it quickly dissolved into the most obscene and intense pleasure he had ever felt in his life. He had never felt so full before and his head swam from the sensation. He barely noticed the words and sounds coming from his mouth. Papa III waited for just a moment before he began to fuck him. Copia cried out, back arching exquisitely, hands grasping the bedsheets. 

"So tight," Papa groaned, his head falling back, black hair becoming a tangle. "So good, my beautiful one. My Copia."

The bed rocked against the wall, the springs screaming at the abuse. Copia's moans only grew in volume until he was screaming in pleasure. Papa III held his hips, not caring if he bruised him, moaning as well. Copia looked like a man possessed, body shuddering and eyes wide. Papa leaned down to kiss him and it was a messy, almost violent affair as desire made them both wild. Papa III's golden nails left scratches on Copia's hips, stomach, and thighs that bled sluggishly onto the sheets. The room was filled with a cacophony of sounds; of flesh against flesh, with moans and screams and cries to dark deities. 

Copia's half-formed words and cries became more and more erratic and Papa III knew he was close to his orgasm. He began to stroke his cock in time with his thrusts, wrenching new and desperate sounds out of the priest. 

"Are you mine, father?" Papa asked, thrusting and hitting that spot that made Copia scream. "Say you're mine. Give yourself to me." 

"Yes!" Copia yelled, body shaking, at the precipice of something huge and powerful. He felt it coiled at the base of his spine, like a spring ready to release, like a trap ready to snap. "I'm yours! All yours! All of me!" 

Copia's orgasm hit him like a freight train. It shattered him to pieces. His world became the buzz of white noise and his vision went white like television static. His voice broke as he screamed Papa III's name and came all over his chest in great pulses, milking the cock still in him. Papa groaned and fucked him hard before pulling out and cumming all over his thigh. 

They laid there for a minute, dazed. Copia slowly began to come back to himself while Papa looked at the mess he'd made of his priest with deep satisfaction. He got up and kissed him slow and sweet, feeling the jackrabbit pace of Copia's heart slamming against his ribs. 

"I can't wait much longer, my sweet," Papa III said as he dipped down elegantly and swept up his robes. "Hurry home."

***

Copia woke to bright sunlight and loud birdsong outside his window. He winced, oddly sore. His body had been through so much traveling and Copia couldn't blame it for being angry at him. He sat up and felt his pajama shirt fall off his shoulders. He looked at it, confused. How had he unbuttoned it in the night? Copia squeaked in shock as his dream came rushing back to him. He threw the sheets off and stared down at his body, slowly beginning to panic.

He was covered in bruises and angry red scratches. Shaking hands traced his body, categorizing each injury. His hands paused as he felt something raised on his inner thigh. He turned his leg and looked in frank shock at the brand he found on the delicate skin. It felt like a long healed scar, raised but not painful. It resembled an incomplete circle with two lines through it, a stylized G and cross all in one. He had no idea how long he stared at it, brain paralyzed in shock. A car alarm outside broke through his reverie and he shot out of bed like he had been fired from a cannon, rushing to the bathroom. 

The mirror there told the rest of the story. His neck was covered in lurid marks and his lips were almost bruised. His reflection looked half crazed and Copia turned away from it, launching himself back into the bedroom. He quickly pulled on his vestments, shoving his pajamas into his suitcase before zipping it closed. He had to leave immediately, he had to get to Sweden, he had to get answers. What was going on? What had he done?

Copia reached into his pocket to make sure his room key was still there and made a strained, confused noise when his hands found something entirely different. He pulled out a thick fistful of hundred Euro bills and stared at them dumbly. His brain flatlined. He couldn't come up with any sensible, logical reason for their surprise existence. 

All he knew was that it was enough to get him on a flight. 

It was enough to get him to Sweden.

**Author's Note:**

> Very, very special thanks to:
> 
> Ann, one of the best noodles, and the entire TB discord. I love you guys. (And shout out to the C3 discord, Ghost BC Events, and Kazoo)
> 
> Ghost Tea on Twitter who just about broke her keyboard when she heard I was writing more.
> 
> And my most deeply heartfelt thanks to Lemore on Instagram, who drew astoundingly beautiful FAN ART of my "Bless Me Father" fic. I am still in shock. I never dreamed someone so talented would be inspired by something I wrote. Lemore, you are amazing and I can never, ever, thank you enough. You honor me with your work.


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